


You Know Me Too Well

by Lola_moon291



Series: Made for Mercy [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Bottom Bruce Wayne, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Bruce Wayne, Dirtier Thoughts, Dirty Talk, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers to Enemies Again, F/M, Heartbroken Bruce Wayne, Jerome Valeska Lives, Jerome is an asshole but what else is new, Knives, Love/Hate, M/M, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Fixation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Powerplay, Rough Kissing, Smut, Top Jerome Valeska, jerome BALEska, maybe? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:34:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28619628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lola_moon291/pseuds/Lola_moon291
Summary: Bruce is left to deal with the reeling emotional aftermath of an elicit affair with Gotham’s most wanted, after Jerome seemingly disappears without a trace. Six months pass, Rumoring Jerome’s return. Bruce is stronger than ever and ready to stop whatever chaos Jerome plans to unleash. Oh and he’s so pissed.
Relationships: Jerome Valeska/Bruce Wayne, Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne
Series: Made for Mercy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2097186
Kudos: 14





	1. Deceiver

**Author's Note:**

> Hi I recommend you read Shut Me Up first as this is a sorta sequel to that, but you do you! As always enjoy and let me know what you think in the comments :)

Jerome had never thought he’d take it this far, okay so maybe he did. Playing with Bruce was one of his favorite pass time after all, and he had no intention of stopping now, not when he was just really starting to get under his skin, burying himself there. This was something now, different, bigger than the both of them. Jerome wanted more, and who was he to deny himself. He’d ravage him, leave him maimed and tortured at jimbos front door all wrapped in a box with a pretty red bow. Just for shits and giggles, he thinks Bruce might even let him if he asked in just the right tone, showed up at his bedroom window like he’d done so many times before with chocolates or roses and tell him how bad he wanted him, Bruce was always a sucker for Jerome’s words. 

Shame he had to go all love sick puppy on him, Things were so much more fun when Bruce was an active participant in their game of cat and mouse. Hated him as much as he wanted him, and when Jerome left Gotham shortly after their last encounter well it wasn’t exactly on purpose, but he still had plans and not even Bruce would keep him from them for long, but ya know what they say about distance.

Jerome was still Jerome after all. Still, wanted to spill the pretty cobalt blood running through Brucie’s veins on a stage surrounded by all of Gotham. Watch his knife part the soft pale, willing skin of Bruce’s throat so easily, and the shock of the crowd as their prince. The cogs that kept their awful city turning, fall lifeless at his feet. 

The chaos would no doubt be Jerome’s biggest accomplishment, a gorgeous madness. He thought about doing other things to his dreadfully brave volunteer, his for lack of better words, “other half” the light to his darkness. Maybe he’d carve a pretty smile into his porcelain face, he’d love to see Bruce that way. Lips marred by the force of his switchblade, the thought pulled uncomfortably at his heart, made him nauseous, his stomach knot in excitement. 

He thought about visiting him too. His maniacs kept tabs on everything Bruce Wayne, you could even say he was a tad bit obsessed but who wasn’t in Gotham, Jerome had eyes. Bruce Wayne was undeniably, hauntingly beautiful he had told him as much and Jerome missed the sight of him. All that innocence and still capable of such animalistic brutality. Jerome had experienced it first hand. Mazes and mirrors and a shattered self reflection in bruce that he couldn’t help get lost in. He never did have very good impulse control anyway. Bruce saw it too, Jerome almost wonders what he would’ve done if he hadn’t left so abruptly, ran from whatever sameness they’d found. It didn’t really matter though, Jerome had caught up to him, snuck into his bedroom as Bruce called his name from his restless sleep. Forced him to tell him all of the naughty little thoughts rattling in that pure head of his. All the dreams he was having. Made him beg. Made him-the thought sent a shiver through him a latent simmering heat that he’d always had at the thought of Bruce spread steadily throughout his stomach.  
———————————

The manor, still had shit security. You’d think for all the times every criminal in Gotham tried to break in they’d upgrade it, at least make it a little bit of a challenge. 

He could see Bruce from the window of his bedroom. All delicate lines and soft edges, nimble limbs and bones expanding cream white skin that Jerome bets would flush the prettiest shade of pink were he to make made bruce do something utterly indecent. Pretty dark eyes that’s stared into the wooden vanity as he got ready for bed. A perpetual furrowed brow, and weight of the whole world that’s always remained on his sculpted shoulders, as he buttoned his cute pajamas. Jerome almost felt bad for him, but pity was beneath Bruce and he had made it abundantly clear that he was hellbent on saving the desolate shithole that was their city, Jerome wonders if he could distract him long enough for the city to descend into his vision of madness, probably not , no, but he’d waited long enough and he sure as hell could at least make it very difficult. 

————————

Bruce couldn’t think of anything but Selina’s last words to him before she left. He knew better than to look for her, seeking her out when she demanded space would never end well in terms of repairing their friendship. He’d been waiting it out, since he’d ruined things between them. If she needed time, he would give it. Breaking her heart was something he’d regretted ever since Jerome’s disappearance, he hadn’t understood before, why Selina had been so angry but ever since, things had become much clearer. He could only hope that she’d forgive him. But that’s the thing about hope, it breeds unending, insufferable, suffering. Bruce missed his best friend, the months had passed so slowly without her. 

The city was quiet, calm, it had been for six months, six months of virtual radio silence, six months since Jerome has disappeared, vanished without a trace. Bruce had searched for him, followed half-baked leads and false sightings of the red headed asshole, who’d been hellbent on destroying every good thing in his life, all the while calling him beautiful with seeming sincerity, touched him, kissed him. Told him how special he was. None of that mattered now. Bruce had six months, six months to grieve the loss of him. Bruce found out rather quickly that grief, turned into anger, quite easily. And anger was good. Strong, it made him stronger, made him train harder, longer, made him better. 

Bruce’s search had one purpose and one only. If Jerome Valeska was laying low, Bruce had no doubt he was planning something awful, and Bruce would make it his sole mission to stop him. Ruin any fun Jerome thought he would have tearing Gotham apart. He hadn’t been able to think clearly when it came to Jerome before, he was weak, but things were different now, he was different, wiser, older, maybe even, meaner. Jerome wouldn’t be able to shake him, with empty words and soft touches he wouldn’t sway under the weight of his stare or swoon. 

So when the rumors and whispers of Jerome’s imminent return started up again bruce was prepared. Prepared for the nondescript black van. Presumably filled with the members of Jerome’s cult had been trailing him, poorly at that, for the past four blocks finally pulled over, door swinging open in a dramatic fashion that only suited one person in Gotham came for him. He let it, with a smile. 

This was going to be so much fun.


	2. Hostage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Jerome resume their favorite game of cat and mouse after soooo long apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ya go

Bruce had gone quietly, smirking beneath, the bag that had been Half hazardously thrown onto his head and the pathetic restraints tying his hands behind his back, as the van began to move. It was so quiet, apart from the ragged breaths of Jerome’s no doubt eccentric followers, the bag had been put on his head before he could see whether or not Jerome was traveling with them. He could feel the road beneath him, a sharp turn causing him to bump gracelessly into a chest. He sighed, he hated not being able to see, he didn’t know where they were going, how many of Jerome’s followers surrounded him, if Jerome was even- 

“Ya know, for somebody who’s just been kidnapped, you’re awful quiet.” The words came from the person who’s chest he’d been reluctantly pushed into by the swaying of the van. A raspy baritone that Bruce would know anywhere. So he was here then. Bruce contemplated words in his head, mostly consistent with vulgar obscenities and graphic depictions of how far he’d shove his foot up Jerome’s- “What cat got your tongue Bruce?” Jerome said mockingly, Bruce couldn’t see him but the maniacs smile was as vivid in his mind’s eye as it would be if they were face to face. Jerome slung a heavy arm across his shoulder, and Bruce stiffened under the contact being this close to him was annoying enough without it. Bruce ignored the heat that pathetically coursed through him as Jerome spoke closely into his covered ear, the last time they’d been like this Bruce pressed against his chest, Bruce was a boy, the charity gala, seemed eons away. Bruce repressed a shiver at the thought, squaring his shoulders and his jaw before speaking.

“You’re kidnapping me.” He said as dryly as he could manage, with Jerome pressed up against him, the familiar weight, the smell of cinnamon and burnt sugar found him leaning unconsciously into the touch before he could stop himself, no one seemed to notice, except Jerome who seemed to notice everything as he leaned even closer, removing the bag from his face, in a whisper only loud enough for him to hear. 

“Yeah well, I thought about taking you from your bed in the middle of the night but this was more convenient, besides I missed my favorite boy toy” He chuckled darkly, the maniacs echoed the sound mindlessly but the double entendre was lost on them. A secret that only they shared. Bruce stopped the train of thought before it had a chance to take off.

“If you’re trying to be clever, it’s not your strong suit” Bruce hissed quietly, using his shoulder to nudge Jerome’s arm off of him. Jerome laughed lightly, Bruce’s limited range of motion not enough to throw him off. 

“What’s wrong doll? Ya aren’t mad at me are ya?” Jerome fiend concern. Bruce couldn’t stop the intake of breath as the sharp cold metal pressed against his back. The van had stopped, Jerome’s followers were exiting but Jerome stayed put one hand on Bruce’s shoulder and the other on what Bruce could only assume was a knife. 

“Where are they going?” Bruce gritted out. The cool metal of Jerome’s knife made quick work of the back of Bruce’s turtle neck. 

“Away.” Jerome whispered, the wisp of a laugh on his lips shortly after as the van's large door banged shut, the sound deafening in the quiet that remained. They were alone for the sole exception of the driver, separated only by a thin wall of metal. All too suddenly Bruce was having far less fun, images of hands larger than his own grasping the expanse of whatever part of him they could reach. Hot and desperate and all too familiar. Suddenly it was all Bruce could do to keep his own hands pressed firmly in his weak restraints, the only remaining barrier, false protection between them, he wondered how long that would last. 

“What are you doing Jerome?” Bruce's words fell unsteadily off his lips, less of a question and more of a plea. Jerome’s hand stopped momentarily as if to consider him, under the steady cover of darkness that blanketed the city and in turn the two of them. Momentary reprieve was only that, momentary. 

“Why, Bruce? You aren’t scared of knives are ya? See I, ah, I remember you being quite fond of them, but ah no I’m probably just remembering wrong right? Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s prince would never be so debased would he?” Bruce kept his face forward Jerome's chin resting on the crown of his head, they were far too close for comfort, Jerome had seated Bruce between long large limbs, Bruce's back plastered gingerly to his chest under the guise of keeping him from falling over in the seatless vehicle, The ignorable insistent press of Jerome’s knife as it slowly traveled up his side. “No, you’re a good boy aren’t you Brucie.” Up. “Perfect.” Up. “Little” Farther. “Angel.” There. Jerome’s knife sat right against his heart, made quick work of leaving his turtleneck in ruins and so unbearably close. Every bone in Bruce's body screamed for him, and for once, Bruce didn’t have the strength to fight it. 

“Jerome.” 

“Yeah, Bruce?” Bruce didn’t miss the smirk in Jerome's voice, couldn't, no matter how hard he tried, always so self satisfied it made Bruce's blood boil. 

“I’m never going to stop fighting you.” he lied. He’d been doing a lot of that as of late, he’d gotten so much better after Jerome left, it was hard at first, finding the perfect lie, but now, it was as easy as breathing, second nature.

Jerome broke out into laughter, a deep baritone laugh that Bruce knew all too well. “Good, cause, otherwise, well, this wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.” Bruce didn’t have a second to react before he’d been pinned to the van floor, Jerome crouched above him like a predator, the viscous green brought out in his hazel eyes as through the backlight hitting the windows. If Bruce was anyone else, any normal sane person, he’d be terrified. Unfortunately he was still Bruce Wayne, and the only thing terrifying about Jerome was how incredibly hard he made him. Jerome’s free hand lay beside Bruce’s head, his switchblade now pressed against his neck, with just enough pressure to remind Bruce it was still there lest he try to move. The cold metal floor against his back and the heat between them contrasted awfully. 

There they stayed, frozen in time, waiting for the other to make the kill. Seconds passing as Jerome studied him. Their breaths become ragged, and just as Bruce thinks he can’t take much more, finally Jerome broke the silence. 

“Miss me?” Bruce ignored the sting of his eyes as he closed them, steadying himself and the agonizing lie he’d been practicing for 6 months. 

“No. Never.” He said evenly with no inflection, no waver in his voice, it sounded so true now, so perfect that, after telling it to himself for so long he could almost believe it.

“No?” Jerome raised an eyebrow knife still firmly pressed against Bruce before finally letting up, sliding that same knife back up his sleeve. “Really Brucie?” Jerome’s crotch settled over his hips. Bruce had wondered if Jerome would try this, when Bruce inevitably found him, a part of him wondered if it might work. “Didn’t miss me at all?” Bruce could feel the familiar shameful heat crawling up his body as Jerome’s connected with his, knew that the second he showed a sign of weakness Jerome would pounce. Devour him whole. 

‘What do you want Jerome? Why are you back?” Bruce was almost out of the poorly tied restraints that held his wrists. The van drove quietly into the night. 

“I told ya baby doll, I missed playing with my favorite toy.” Jerome wore his most ear splitting grin, Bruce couldn’t hide the hurt on his face but he doubted it mattered anyway. 

“I am not your fucking toy Jerome.” He spat venomously. “I don’t want you.” Apparently that did the trick, the crack in the showman's façade, finally. 

“Right.”

Bruce couldn't stop the words from spewing once they started, and if he could, he didn’t want to. “You should've stayed in whatever hole you crawled out of when you left, because I will never stop coming for you. Until you're spending the rest of your life rotting with the rest of the half-baked phycos in Arkham.” Bruce’s body practically shook with his rage, six months worth of pent up anger, finally beginning to break through. Jerome only stared at him, for the first time since they’d met he seemed, speechless. Good Bruce thought, maybe now he’ll shut the hell up. Unfortunately for Bruce, Jerome's ego was as quickly recovered as it was injured. It would have been admirable if it were anyone else, on Jerome, it was just one more thing he could find infuriating. 

“Ya know what I think Bruce.” he leaned in closer, their faces only a breadth apart.

“I’m sure you're gonna tell me.” Jerome chortled, a bitter humorless laugh. 

“I think that the only reason you're mouthing off is because you're not making use of that pretty little mouth of yours,” Jerome's freehand grabbed his jaw, tracing the seam of his lips. Bruce’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, before Jerome was pressing them apart, long deft fingers pressed against his tongue, and the heat clawing up his chest, lighting flames in his cheeks, was no longer from his anger. “That’s it, Bruce. Suck.” Bruce closed his eyes, closing his lips around Jerome, sucking until Jerome was satisfied and removed the digits from his mouth.   
“See, Bruce.” Jerome said quietly, as if he were somewhere else. “You need me.” 

“No.” Bruce said defeat was evident in his tone.

“Yes.” 

“Do you remember what you said to me, the last time we saw each other Jerome?” First hand, finally free from his restraints. He leaned up shifting Jerome’s weight into his lap. Second hand free, he settled them on the floor next to them and whether Jerome hadn’t noticed or didn’t care he made no comment, seemingly entranced by Bruce’s response to his childish attempt to seduce him. They were so close now Bruce leaning forward into him, Jerome was still taller, bigger, and stronger, but right now, Bruce had the upper hand. Jerome never could resist a willing volunteer, an active participant in his madness. Their lips were so close that Bruce could almost taste him. He grabbed Jerome’s hips, pulling their body’s flush, earring a surprised intake of breath. Bruce whispered against him, slowly rocking Jerome against him, there was no mistaking the hardness he ground shallowly into Jerome’s ass. “You told me,” Jerome was moving against him now, Bruce could see the hardness in the dress pants he’d worn, large arms wrapping themselves around his neck as they ground against each other. “You didn’t care enough about Gotham to seduce me.” Jerome gazed at him through hooded eyes, as Bruce moved one of his hands to unbutton Jerome’s slacks, grabbing his hard cock through his underwear. Jerome strangled out a moan that made Bruce flush. “Remember?” Jerome nodded making shallow thrusts into Bruce’s fist. Bruce stopped his hand, and Jerome grunted in response. “Use your words Jerome, tell me you remember.” 

“Yes, now move.” Of course he'd be bossy, even while shamelessly grinding into Bruce, still Bruce continued his ministrations. Finally, bringing Jerome's lips to his, they tasted just how he remembered, but they were somehow better, addictive and all to soon Jerome was pulling away, and Bruce was positive that once again he’d be left reeling, destroyed in the storm that was Jerome if he didn't stop him.

“Good.” Bruce moved his hand faster, resting his other palm against Jerome's wrist, “because Jerome, you may not care about Gotham, but I do.” Before Jerome could muse on the words, Bruce had already taken the knife from his sleeve. “Much more than I ever cared about you.”   
“Stop the car.” Bruce removed his hands from Jerome's pants, throwing him to the ground in a position all too similar to the one Jerome held him in minutes ago, knife pressed just below his jaw, confusion written across Jerome's features.

“What are you doing Bruce?” Jerome asked curiosity lacing his tone.

“You know.” Bruce said matter-of-factly “You really should pay better attention to your staff, otherwise they’re all too easy to pay off Jerome.” Bruce couldn’t keep the smile off his lips as the frowning expression Jerome wore, it was almost funny, his face all twisted up while the smile cared for his lips. Bruce knew he probably shouldn’t have delighted in betraying Jerome the way he did, but it felt good, to hurt him back, leave him reeling for once, so he’d allow himself this one pleasure one last kiss, Bruce leaned into him once more his hands in the lapels of Jerome's ridiculous suit jacket, the kiss was all heat, teeth and lips clashing as they kissed, Bruce’s tongue licking at Jerome's lips, forcing them apart as Jerome gasped as his own knife pierced his own, violence had always been their preferred method of communication and Bruce was more than happy to oblige for their last kiss. They stayed like that until Bruce pulled back, to catch his breath, Jerome's expression blissed, and his lips swollen and red from their abuse.

“What was that for Brucie?” he smiled. Bruce returned the expression, ease filling his body, satiated.

“That was it, our last kiss.” Bruce watched diligently at the micro expressions unwillingly Jerome showed him, shoulders stiffened, neck tensed, in place of his usual relaxed posture at the tone of Bruce's voice. Bruce pulled the phone from his back pocket to his ear. “Alfred. I have him.”


End file.
